


The Host AU

by consultingdetectivesherlockh, MintoKitsune



Series: Prompts and Collaborations [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Host - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, awesome okay cool, because this is my au and im obs gonna change it up ok, i obs already ahve, in fact i plan on staying real soon so dont get comfy with that plot, okay so this is an au i came up with after watching the new movie, warning i havent read the book all the way yet and this is not going word for word
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingdetectivesherlockh/pseuds/consultingdetectivesherlockh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintoKitsune/pseuds/MintoKitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth has been invaded by a peaceful species that require a host to live. John is one of those species, and is now living in the body of Greg Lestrade. When both of them try to escape the unsettling Seeker, Moriarty, and try to find the love of their- Greg's life, they find themselves on an adventure they never expected to have.</p>
<p>An AU based off of the novel/movie The Host by Stephanie Meyers</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: You know how it goes but, I don't own the show or the book or movie or whatever it's not mine.
> 
> Also apologies for the lame story name. I couldn't think of one.

Greg was running. He was running as fast as he possibly could, his breath coming out ragged. It felt like his lungs were on fire, but cold. He turned the corner and stopped short, finding himself surrounded by men in white. One man, who stood out by wearing a nice, black dress suit, stepped out so he was visible. “Don’t run, Greg. We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Like hell you aren’t.” Greg growled, forming his hands into fists. He took a step towards one of the men in white, swinging.

“Please, be careful.” One said, taking a step back.

Another stepped forward. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Greg advanced, swinging his fist and knocking one of the men to the ground. He knew what he had to do, and he took in his surroundings to find what he needed.

There it was, a way out. A glass wall stood directly across from him, behind some of the men. He charged towards them, knocking them to the ground. The others charged after him, but he was too fast for them. He braced himself for the contact, and before he knew it he was out of the now shattered window, falling fast. Then it was pain. Wretched, terrible pain. His entire body ached, his vision warped with black spots. And then, there was nothing.

 

Moriarty, also known as ‘The Seeker’, paced rather impatiently. “How long is it going to take?” He asked, turning to the Healer with an irritated look. The Healer sighed and approached Greg’s sedated body, picking up a scalpel on the way.

“Is the Soul ready yet?” He asked, turning to see the silver pod it laid in being placed on a table next to Greg. “Good.” He raised the scalpel and brought it to the back of Greg’s neck, dragging it down carefully to cut it open, enough for the soul to work it’s way in. Then he moved to the pod, opening it and carefully removing the soul.

He cupped it in both of his palms, moving it to the laceration, watching as it’s small arms reached out to touch the cut. Slowly it started to make it’s way into Greg’s neck. The light that came off of it with a glow was visible even through the skin, until it was hidden behind a head full of hair.

Moriarty clicked his tongue impatiently and he gave a tight lipped smile, watching as Greg’s normally brown eyes opened, a light blue surrounding the pupil. It was done.

 

He had to adjust to the body quickly, Moriarty had a mission for him after all. He didn’t really pay attention to his surroundings, until he found himself sitting in a empty room, besides a chair and a table. His mind instantly connected the room with the word ‘interrogation.’

“What do I call you?” Moriarty asked when he walked into the room.

He blinked, pulling the first name he could think of from his mind. “John.” He said. Most people actually called him the Conductor, but that was a mouthful and he knew a human name would be most appropriate.

Moriarty paced before standing directly in front of John. “What I want from you is simple.” He said, splaying his hands on the table so he could lean in closer. “It is believed that your host was a part of a large colony of humans, and I need you to look through his memories to find the location for me. Can you do that?”

John looked directly into Moriarty’s warped eyes and nodded.

 

Getting memories would have been easy, had John not discovered something about his host. First, he was persistently fighting against him. Second, he had a lot to hide. It was only one night, when he was trying to sleep, did he find out some useful information.

_Greg was quiet, very quiet, as he approached the empty house. It’s tenants had gone for the weekend, on a sort of vacation, and this was the perfect time to gather food. He tiptoed near the door, a bag in his hands, when he heard a rustling inside the house. Someone was still inside._

_He could see it’s small figure moving towards the open door, and he had little time to react. Quickly, he grabbed them, spinning them around so he could place a small knife to their neck. It was a woman. He found out when he grabbed her waist and held her close to his body. He didn’t care. They were all the same to him._

_“Move, and I’ll kill you.” He growled, pressing the blade into her neck just enough to make her feel the edge, to let her know what it was._

_“Fine, do it.” She said, her voice coming out a little shaky. “I’d rather be dead than like you.”_

_That was strange. They usually never spoke like that, defiant and uneasy, and they had never said anything like “I’d rather be dead than like you.”_

_Quickly, he grabbed her hips and spun her around, pinning her to the wall with one of his muscled arms. With his free hand he placed the knife on the counter next to him and grabbed a flashlight, shining it into her eyes._

_Her eyes were brown. A sweet, light, chocolate brown. The familiar light blue patch around the eyes was absent. She was actually human. He couldn’t believe it._

_Like any rational man would do, he set the flashlight down, before quickly grabbing her face and kissing her on the lips. It was a desperate kiss. One that showed how lonely he had been, how much he needed someone in his life. It showed the absence of love._

_The girl was obviously panic stricken. In a moment of quick thinking, she reared her knee up and hit him where the sun doesn’t shine, causing him to keel over in pain. Then she ran._

_He knew she thought he was one of them. He knew she was going to run as fast as she could to get away. He was desperate to keep that from happening. So he ran, despite the pain. He chased after her, watching as her small legs tried to make a getaway. Luckily for him, he was in football before the Occupation came._

_In no time, he was pinning her to the ground, speaking in a hushed tone. “Please, stop struggling. I’m human.” He said, unable to stop thinking about how cute her eyes were when they were widened like that. He was disappointed when she narrowed them and glared at him._

_“Yeah, and I’m Barry Manilow.”  She replied. He had to bite back his laugh. Seriously, that was the cutest thing he had seen in a long time._

_He took his flashlight, which he thankfully didn’t drop, and flicked it on, shining it into his eyes. He waited a moment, for her sharp intake of breath, before he pulled it away and turned it off. “Now do you believe me?” He asked, and she nodded silently._

_He smirked. “So, Barry Manilow. Care to come back to that house and help me get some food?” He joked, pulling himself up to his feet before offering her his hand. He could tell she wanted to giggle, but she still looked unsure. “Look, I have to get food for me and Harry, and I don’t want to lose you.”_

_She furrowed her eyebrows. “You’re with someone else?” Confusion rang in her voice, and he nodded._

_“My sister, Harriet. I can’t leave her alone much longer.” Greg said, taking a single step towards the house then looking back to see if the girl would follow him. She did, and he smiled gratefully. “My name is Greg.”_

_“I’m Molly. Molly Hooper.”_

_“It’s nice to meet you, Molly Hooper.”_

 

John woke up with a start. He was sweating, as if he had just had a nightmare, and his shirt was clinging to his body. His heart was hammering quickly. The first thing to come into his mind was the feeling on his lips when he- no, when Greg kissed that girl. His fingers reached up and brushed his lips as he tried to get that feeling of warmth back, but he stopped when he realized what he was doing.

To shake the feeling, he instead tried to think of the bit of information he had gotten from that dream. Greg wasn’t alone in his travels. He had been with two other humans. A partner, Molly, and a sister, Harriet.

Picking up his phone, he pressed the number 2 on his speed dial and held the phone to his ear. It rang once. Twice. Three times, and finally he heard the soft voice on the other end.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, John. This had better be good.” He heard the threatening tone. **Or what?** The voice was in his head and John realized it wasn’t his thoughts. Still, it had a point. What was Moriarty going to do? _Skin him?_ That was ridiculous. The Occupation was a people of peace.

He could deal with the voice in his head later. He did have information to give out. “Greg was with two other people. A female named Molly, who was around his age, and a younger female named Harriet. She was his sister.” As he said those words, he heard the voice again. **No! You _idiot!_** And then, John almost regretted it.

But it was too late. Moriarty’s voice was calculating over the phone. “So there are more. Interesting. Is that all?”

John thought about saying something more. He didn’t want to seem weak, but Greg’s defiance was getting out of hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but a quick growl in his head made him reply, “No, that’s all.”

The line fell dead as Moriarty hung up.

**Well that was rude.**

 

The interrogation room was cold and uncomfortable. John wished he were anywhere else. Since that night, Greg’s voice had spoken much more often, and John had already become used to it. Not that he liked it. It made it much harder to speak, and sometimes he couldn’t tell which feelings were his own, or which were Greg’s. It was bone chilling. That thought seemed to please Greg; he thought it was only fair. **Try having an extraterrestrial living in your body.** He spat one night, after a particularly rough day.

Moriarty was watching him with a sharp eye. He had yet to produce anything new about any other humans, or the location of the resistance. As days went by, more and more of the memories seemed to be about Molly. John didn’t understand why _he_ would feel an attraction towards this woman. He had never met her. But every time he snapped out of those memories, he had the uncomfortable feeling of pants that had suddenly shrunk down a few sizes.

Moriarty told him it was normal, that the body may be his now, but lingering emotions from the human could affect him just as much. He sighed and tried to think of something knew, but Greg was somehow putting up a wall against the things he wanted to protect.

If it was frustrating for him, it must have been more so for Moriarty, who was pacing back and forth with a brisk step. “Is there anything new?” He asked, to which John instantly shook his head. He could have sworn he heard him growl.

**Calm down there, tiger.** He heard Greg speak and he almost had to contain a giggle. No, wait. He wasn’t supposed to laugh at him, he was supposed to find a way to get him out of his head.

Moriarty noticed the smile and tilted his head, an irritated smile on his face. “Do you find something funny?” His voice was sickeningly sweet. John shuddered and shook his head.

 

At first, John didn’t understand Molly and Greg’s relationship. Yet as things passed and more memories were shown to him, he began to feel comfortable with it. It felt like he was a part of the relationship. Greg didn’t like it as much, when he was intruding on intimate moments that were supposed to be private. Not that John liked it either. Especially a certain memory in particular.

_Harry was out of the house. Greg didn’t know what she was doing, but that was fine for him as long as she was safe. It meant he got to be alone with Molly, which was a treasure. They were staying in an abandoned hotel outside of the city. Greg’s legs were perched on Molly’s lap and they were both at peace._

_She seemed concentrated. Her eyebrows had found themselves knitting together and her lips were pursed. His eyebrows were raised when he finally spoke. “What are you thinking about?” His question fell on dead air and she turned to look at him, her cheeks slowly growing pink._

_“I was just- Uhm. Well- I was wondering. What if we’re the only ones left?” She had her head turned down, but her eyes pointed up, and she looked like a puppy. Greg wanted to kiss her so badly, but he was curious as to where she was going with this. She looked like she wanted to say more. So he waited, inclining his head for her to continue. There was a long silence before she finally started up again. “You haven’t kissed me in awhile.”_

_Greg’s face eased up into one of the most endearing smiles he had ever conjured. Molly was too cute for her own good sometimes._

_He shifted onto his knees, getting closer to her. “Do you want me to kiss you?” He asked her, his voice deeper than he meant it to be. She kept her mouth closed, but nodded, her eyes as wide as saucers. He leaned in closer, his thumb slowly brushing across her cheek. “I want to kiss you too.” He muttered._

_He closed the distance and gave her an agonizingly slow and short kiss. Then he pulled away, his face absolutely shining with affection._

_“I love you.” He muttered, leaning in to kiss her again._

_He could feel her trying to return the phrase, but with a chuckle he continued to kiss her. It was amusing how she tried, despite the fact that his lips were smothering hers. But she gave in and kissed him back, and it was the best thing he had ever known._

_His hand started to slide up her shirt._

**No. Stop!**

John shook away the thoughts as the memory tried to keep going.

_They had both lost their tops somewhere along the line and the kissing had grown more heated. It was obvious how inexperienced Molly was, how bashful she was, but Greg was trying to take his time. He would be gentle._

**Stop, I’m serious. You shouldn’t be looking at this stuff.**

_Molly was soft everywhere. Her breath was coming out ragged, and he couldn’t wait much longer for this._

**John, STOP!**

John pulled out of the memory, shaking. He never wanted to see something like that, and he was grateful that Greg pulled him out of it before it could get really bad. At this point, he knew what was going to happen. He definitely didn’t want to see that.

 

_Greg was a simple man. He loved two people, Molly and Harry. He loved them deeply and equally, but not in the same way. He loved Molly like a husband would love a wife, and Harry as much as a brother would love his sister. Even though she wasn’t related to him by blood per se, they were closer than most people were during this period. When Greg found her, she immediately struck him as someone he would want to keep around. She was funny, street-smart, and quick enough to be able to avoid Seekers at a moment’s notice._

_Greg and Harry became very close after getting away from a group of Seekers and finding shelter in a dingy apartment that had been abandoned for god knows how long. They stayed there for weeks. The first few days were quiet, they were still getting used to one another, and the next few were slightly less. On the second week in, they got extremely bored, and Harry couldn’t take it anymore._

_“Psst!” She whispered, reaching around for a cushion from the couch she was sitting on. Greg looked back at her and tasted fabric and dust when it hit his face. With the tensions eased, he started to laugh and throw the thing back. Harry was too quick, she caught the cushion and tossed it to the ground, a playful smirk on her face._

_Greg laughed and shook his head, settling further into the couch. He could almost hear the clock whirring in her head as she thought to herself._

_“Greg..?” Harry looked at the man, her eyes small but calculating. He raised his eyebrows and she chewed on her lip nervously. “Do you have any siblings?”_

_Greg stayed silent but shook his head. It looked like she wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to push her._

_“I had a brother. He was around your age.” She murmured softly. Greg caught the look she had and eased her on with his eyes. She sighed. “He was trained to be a Doctor, but when the aliens were first noticed, he was drafted to war.” She hesitated, her eyes welling with tears. “They caught him, turned him into one of them. One- One day he came home and tried to take me in.” She was sniffling now, her words getting choppier. Greg scooted closer and pulled her into a hug while she buried her head into his chest. “I- I had to sh-shoot him. B-but I m-m-missed and he’s still out there.” Now she was sobbing._

_Greg ran his hand down her hair, petting her affectionately. “It’ll be okay.” He muttered, while her tears stained his shirt. “You’ll be okay now. I’m here, I’m here for you, it’s okay.”_

_She cried for awhile, but soon she fell asleep in Greg’s arms, leaving him to think. He thought about how terrible the Occupation was, how they separated and ruined families, how Harry had suffered. He was glad they had run into each other. He swore he would protect her and treat her like a brother would._

_Even if it killed him._

 

The last memory John saw was the second to last that Greg had lived through. It was night time when he saw it. He was in that state of being half asleep, his eyes clouding over. He was just about to turn in for the night when a panicked voice echoed in his mind and his vision slipped away.

_Greg couldn’t see anything. Darkness surrounded him as his eyes tried to adjust to the low light. When they did, he saw a group of men dressed in white. If he looked closely, he could see the light blue color surrounding their pupils._

_Quickly, he ducked behind a turned over table and faced Molly and Harry. “There are maybe ten of them, I can’t tell for sure.” He whispered._

_Molly nodded, starting to rise. “I’ll distract them while you two get away.”_

_Harry’s hand reached up and grabbed Molly’s arm, pulling her back down. “Like hell you are.” She hissed, and Greg nodded in agreement._

_“Molly, you can’t go out there. I won’t let you._

_Molly opened her mouth to protest, but Greg shook his head. He cupped her face, kissing her sweetly on the lips, then he hugged Harry and ruffled her hair. “I’ll come back, I promise.” He said, peeking his head out to see where the Seekers were. They were getting closer. He turned and addressed Harry. “Keep her safe. Keep the both of you safe.”_

_He stood up. “I promise I’ll be back.”_

_And then he was running._

_He ran down a hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. When he turned the corner, he found himself surrounded by men in white._

John knew what happened after that, and he was drawn out of the vision by a rapt knock on the door. He looked at the time and sighed. **Oh, I wonder who that could be.**

‘ _Shut up._ ’

He stood up and moved to the door, opening it. He wasn’t surprised to see Moriarty standing there, smirking.

He cleared his throat and stood in the doorway. “Did you want something?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. He had become so used to Greg’s body now, he even used a lot of his old mannerisms.

Moriarty seemed amused at how defensive he had gotten. He hadn’t even realized he was purposely preventing Moriarty from entering. He had to take a deep breath and step aside, allowing the man into his home. “I’ve come to talk to you about your cooperation, and ‘mission’.” He said, sitting on the couch as if he lived there. “We think it’s better if you moved bodies, had someone else take a look inside his memories.”

John took a step back, his face scrunched up. “You want to- You want someone else to live inside this human? What about myself?”

“We will place you inside another host, of course. We just feel like it would be better to hire someone more-” He paused, almost seeming to taste his words, before his smirk grew, “capable.”

**Wow, nice guy. No seriously, you two should be best friends.** Greg was starting to get on John’s nerves. Normally he’d find that hilarious, but in the circumstances, it wasn’t helping.

John definitely felt offended. He had to stand up for himself. “I have lived on 8 other planets. I am perfectly capable for the job. I have heard you say yourself that no other soul would be able to last a week in a host this strong.”

Moriarty laughed, shaking his gelled head of hair. “I wasn’t suggesting any random soul.” His smile grew and it dawned on John about the same time it dawned on Greg.

**Fuck no.**

“You want to- But, what about _your_ host?” John asked, taking another step backwards.

Moriarty shrugged and tilted his head. “They will hold it for me. There’s no need to worry about that.”

John gulped, his last question sticking to his throat. “And this body?”

“It will be disposed, of course.”

John felt sick. Probably because Greg felt sick, but despite all of his protests and arguing with the human inside his head, he enjoyed this body. He had gotten used to it and how it worked. He didn’t want to give it up and he most definitely didn’t want it to be disposed of. That was wasteful and murderous, and John only ever wanted peace.

He started to shake his head at the suggestion, but Moriarty wasn’t having any of that. “There isn’t another option, John. I will return tomorrow in the morning to transport you to a Healer myself.” He stood, heading for the door, but turned to look back at John once he had pulled the door open. “I will have my men stand outside your door tonight, so no one can hurt you.” The real reason was left in his eyes, and he simply had to nod before Moriarty shut the door.

**You have to get us out of here.** Greg’s voice was louder than ever, almost like he was shouting. Not that it mattered. John felt the same. He was already throwing things into a bag, walking around as fast as he could without causing any commotion. He was glad, for once, that he picked a flat on ground level, that it would be easy to get out from another area.

“Where do we go?” He asked out loud, slinging the full backpack over his shoulder and moving to the window.

**Anywhere but here.** Greg responded, and John was sliding out the door, fast walking to the street. **We’ll have to steal a car if we want to get away fast enough.**

John shook his head. “Let me take care of this.” He kept walking at the same pace until he saw a car driving past. Quickly, he jumped in front of it, watching as it slowed and then stopped, and the driver got out of the car.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the blue around his eyes shining in the moonlight.

John nodded, taking a step forward. “May I borrow your vehicle? It’s for an emergency.”

Surprisingly enough for Greg, the man smiled widely and nodded. “Of course. Consider it yours.”

**Huh. Isn’t that handy.**

And then he was driving.

But John didn’t realize how much he hated driving. Hours of it made your legs cramp and your arms grow sore. He was fighting to keep his eyes awake and he had absolutely no idea where he was going. He only knew Greg was feeding him directions. And the place seemed familiar.

It was a desert. The mountains were high and rocky. He remembered finding this place on a map in his flat, but he had never sent out the piece of information. He was only now wondering why he hadn’t done that.

It was Greg. Greg had prevented him from sending the coordinates to some secret place, and now he was leading John directly to that place.

_It was a trap!_

John swerved, trying to hit the brakes, but his leg wouldn’t move. In fact, it pressed harder on the gas. “Stop!” He shouted, but Greg’s thoughts were loud in his mind.

**I’m taking myself to Harry and Molly, I’m keeping my promise!**

John spun the wheel sharply and the car flipped over a good two or three times before landing straight up. The seat belt cut into his chest and his head slammed into the steering wheel too many times to be safe. When the car finally came to a stop, John was in a lot of pain. He already knew he would have a concussion and somehow he knew that this car would not be safe in a few minutes.

The hood was smoking and he could have sworn he saw a flicker of light somewhere under that ghastly fog. It was going to blow. John needed to get out fast.

He threw the door open with his shoulder and staggered out, quickly running from the car in the direction he was facing. It was leading him straight into the desert, but he had no time to care.

He barely managed to get away before the car exploded, the fire going sky high.

He was okay when it was over. His arms were scorched and ash was settling on his clothes, but he was in one piece. And he had to leave this spot. Someone had to have heard that, or seen it, and Moriarty was looking for him. John didn’t think he would be as kind as the rest of their people if he caught him.

**Go my way.** Greg suggested. John was going to shake his head, but he realized he had no idea where he was anyways. Now he just needed to get away. He nodded slowly. **Turn east. Head that way.**

 

The walk was long and John was thirsty. He wasn’t going to make it much longer in these conditions. His lips were cracked, his skin dry. His mouth tasted like sand. That was all he saw around him, after hours of walking. The sun had risen and he was surrounded by sand, everywhere. He had probably been walking for at least ten hours.

Finally, he saw a tree. It bore no leaves and it barely cast a shadow, but it was enough for John. He leaned against it and closed his eyes, letting himself fall into a stupor.

 

He woke up with the feeling of water being poured into his mouth and my god it was both refreshing and tasty. It was the best water he had ever tasted.

He hadn’t even opened his eyes, he was too busy gulping down the water, when he heard the voice of an older woman. “There you go, lad. What are you doing out here in the desert? It’s not a place to be wandering.”

“Thank you.” John said, opening his eyes to see an elderly woman, her hair not quite grey, but a blonde that seemed to be slowly making it’s way to that color. “Thank you very much.”

She smiled, met his eyes, and then gasped, staggering back. “You- You’re-” She looked around, glad to see that others were coming. It seems she had been in the company of four others, all looking very much human. One was a woman, caramel colored skin and curly brown hair that seemed to poof from her head in an unruly manner. She caught sight of John and her lips curled up in utter disgust.

Another’s eyes were as cold as ice. Though John had to wonder what kind of man carried around an umbrella. Was his skin really that sensitive?

**He could just be posh.**

‘ _Shut up, Greg._ ’

Greg’s laughter almost blocked out the next words, as a man with greasy black hair and a nasally voice spoke up. “Why are you giving it water?” He asked, crossing his arms. “It’d be easier to just let it die out here.” John turned to look in his direction, but a different, much deeper voice, caught his attention.

“Don’t be an idiot, Anderson. Killing him now would be pointless and more idiotic than your obsession with dinosaurs.”

John’s head swiveled towards the voice and, _wow, he was beautiful._ Greg scoffed and John blinked back his thoughts, taking in his appearance. He had the sharpest cheekbones that John had ever seen and a set of lips that seemed so satisfied with the words that had just left them. His hair was a jet black, with unruly, untamed curls. It was clear he didn’t even bother to touch it with a brush.

The thing that really got John was the eyes. He met those eyes and saw a crystal blue that threw him off. It was almost the exact color that rimmed his own pupils. Was this man like him? He couldn’t have been, in the same area as hostile humans. And a moment later when the light shone on those eyes and turned them a murky green, it was confirmed. He was human.


	2. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is surrounded by humans who hate him. Will he find a comrade in someone entirely unexpected?

John was mesmerized by the tallest man with the strange eyes. He was so distracted, he didn’t notice the .45 handgun being pointed at his head. He did hear the click as it was being cocked back, and his eyes shot towards the man named Anderson.

The gun was too close for comfort. The man that John had caught the eye of, stepped in between them. “There are two ways this can go, Anderson.” He said, as if he were offering Anderson options. “You shoot and kill me, and Mycroft will then kill you- a brother’s sentiment-, or-”

The man with the umbrella interrupted him. “Don’t be foolish, Sherlock. Step out of the way.”

Sherlock’s eyes turned to him and showed a coldness that John hadn’t noticed a moment ago. “or you put the gun down and leave him unharmed.”

The elderly woman, who John recognized as Mrs. Hudson (she was a distant relative to Greg), was still near him. She was kneeling back down to his height, to lightly touch his arm. “Why don’t you come back with us. We can get it all sorted out peacefully.” She sent a pointed look to the two boys who had been threatening John and Sherlock smirked.

John stood up, staggering under the tiredness of his body. He staggered right into the arms of Sherlock, who propped him up and allowed him to lean on him while they walked. This also kept any of the others from attempting anything, as Sherlock was shooting them daggers from his eyes whenever they even glanced in his direction. John smiled softly.

**Don’t even think about it.** Greg’s thought were as clear as day and John found himself chuckling. He didn’t catch the look that Sherlock sent him, he was too immersed in where they were going.

The walk wasn’t as bad as it was before, but John was tired and hungry, and still thirsty despite the water he had been given.

When they finally reached the place, it was hard to spot. It had to be something you already knew, or you would never find it. John was surprised when they banked to the right, and then again, into a small opening that was unnoticeable to the plain eye.

The next thing John knew, he was shrouded in darkness. They had entered a tunnel and as the group of them pressed in further, the lights disappeared. They must have been accustomed to the dark, damp tunnels, because they moved quickly. John stumbled on his feet next to Sherlock, too weary to think much about where they were going.

They seemed to walk for ages, until finally they pulled out in a large cavern. It was huge, maybe 500 square feet in size, and it held over 20 people milling around. When they entered the cavern though, everyone fell silent and stopped to stare. They’re eyes gazed at John’s and if he wasn’t already leaning onto Sherlock, he would have hidden behind him.

The group kept walking, until they reached about the middle of the cavern and stopped short. John leaned away from Sherlock, so he was standing on his own, and looked around. He was trying to put names to the faces, to figure out if Molly or Harry had made it, or whether they were still out there somewhere. He knew they had planned on coming up here, but John had barely made it. What if they didn’t make it at all?

That was why, when he finally saw the red hair of his sister, he unconsciously jolted towards her. “Harry.” He spoke. Greg had taken control of the body for that split moment, even though John was screaming at him to stop. It was too late. He got close to the woman and the next thing he knew, her fist was connecting with his face.

John hadn’t felt pain this strong, this intense. She had hit him hard enough to send him staggering back into Sherlock, who held him up carefully. He saw white spots in his eyes. He was too weak for this.

The edges around his eyes started to blur, but he could hear the arguing that went around him. “Why did you bring that _thing_ here?” Harry’s voice shouted. John could hear the pain and hatred in her voice, which was directed at him.

John couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Only Greg, who was trying to hear Harry, was keeping them awake. “It’ll lead them here! It’ll destroy us all!”

Greg took control again and started to mutter. It was so soft, only Sherlock could hear. “Harry... Harry you’re safe..”

Sherlock’s deep voice was closer to his ear than he thought, when he spoke, he nearly jumped. “He can’t leave them here if he doesn’t get out.”

An unknown voice from his left spoke up. “We just have to give it to Stamford. He can easily take care of it.”

Sherlock’s response was almost calculated and very much cold. “Oh, that’s a brilliant idea. Then we can send his body to Molly for her to dissect. Isn’t that just a genius idea, Harriet?”

Greg moaned, no longer strong enough to take control of John’s voice. _**Molly...**_

John tried focusing on the words that were being said now, but he couldn’t hear them. Instead, his entire body fell limp and he blacked out.

 

When he woke up his entire body ached. His mouth was chapped and dry, and his joints popped when he stretched out. He had been laid down on the rock floor. When he sat up and opened his eyes, he found out that he was in a small room, barely big enough for him to stretch out in. The walls were cold, the air was damp, and he wished he was anywhere but here.

He found the entrance to the room and saw that pair of startling blue eyes surveying him from the hole. He scoot back to the wall and stared. Was he supposed to say something or was Sherlock just looking at him like that for no reason.

When he finally opened his lips to say something, Sherlock beat him to it. “You talk in your sleep, you know.” He said, a quirk in his lips as if he had stopped trying to hide his smile.

John didn’t know why his cheeks heated up, but he could only imagine what kind of things he had been saying. Instead of responding to that statement, he pulled his legs into his chest and licked his lips.

Sherlock slid in a tray with bread and a bottle of water on it and then crawled in after. He was taller than Greg’s body, so he had to crouch a bit before he sat down. John attacked the food and water as if he hadn’t eaten in months. Sherlock started to talk again. “You’re different than the ones we’ve gotten before.” He said, tilting his head as if he were studying John. John felt naked in front of him, like everything was out for him to see.

_‘I should tell him that you’re still in here.’_ He thought when he finished his bread.

Greg’s voice was sharp. **Are you an idiot? No one is going to believe you, they’ll just think you’re lying to keep yourself safe. That’ll kill us both.**

‘ _But he’s smart. He’ll know if I’m lying or not._ ’

**It won’t make much of a difference.**

“-What are you hiding?” Sherlock asked, leaning in. The smile on his face was wide, excited. He looked like he hadn’t had this much excitement in ages.

“I’m- I’m not leading anyone back here, if that’s what you’re asking.” John muttered, looking defiantly at Sherlock, whose smile only got wider. What was he thinking under that grin of his?

“Oh, I know that. That much was obvious by the state you came in. No one is looking for you.”

**Well, that’s not entirely true.**

John didn’t think he made any changes in his expression, but Sherlock tilted his head and his smile seemed to grow, if that was even possible. “There _is_ someone after you, then. But not someone you like- _Interesting_.”

John’s eyes bugged, trying to decipher how Sherlock could possible know something like that. “How did you-”

“Hold on,” Sherlock interrupted, seeming to take John’s expression with a gleeful attitude. “I’m not finished yet.”

John’s face showed just how confused he was, but Sherlock had already started talking again and John was forced to stare in awe and silence. “You haven’t been in Greg’s body for long, a few months at the most, yet you’ve already settled in pretty well. You’ve been to more than one world, going by the way you held yourself I’d say at least seven, eight if I really want to be spot on. You obviously retain memories and emotions from Greg, judging by how you reacted to Harriet, but you still have your own thoughts and emotions.”

He paused and smirked at the look on John’s face. He continued, hoping to impress the man even further. “This body has been through a lot. Greg played football in highschool before the Occupation struck and he fell in love with Molly Hooper the second he saw her face. His sister, Harriet, who is in fact not blood related to him, knew him more than anybody. Am I wrong?”

This time, he didn’t smile. He kept his eyes studious and careful, almost as if John’s reaction was going to clear something up for him.

John blinked and opened his mouth, which felt thick under the pressure. Greg was astounded as well. **He was spot on.**

“You are certainly correct in most aspects.” John said, having given it a second to think about it. He tilted his head to the side, hoping to outsmart Sherlock and avoid giving away anything he didn’t want known. “However-”

“I couldn’t be wrong about anything.” Sherlock said, his eyebrows coming together in frustration.

Now John was smiling. If Greg didn’t know any better, he’d have said he was flirting. “You are wrong about one thing.” He said, holding up his finger for emphasis. Sherlock scowled but kept his eyes intent. “Harry clearly doesn’t know Greg more than anybody.” Sherlock scrunched up his face. Who could have known Greg more than his little sister? John had the answer, and he was glad to give it out.

His finger tilted down until it was pointed at Sherlock. “You certainly must know him better. After all, you know me better than anyone I’ve ever met, and you can’t even see the real me.”

Sherlock’s grin was purely childish and ecstatic.

**You have the hots for him, don’t you?**

‘ _No idea what you’re talking about._ ’

**Sure you don’t.**

 

For over a week, John stayed in that tiny, cramped space. Most of the time, he spent it talking to Sherlock. It was so interesting to see the way his brain worked, to see him figure out so many things without John having to even open his mouth. Not that it prevented John from saying anything. Sherlock was just as intent on listening to John talk about his different worlds.

That first day, Mrs. Hudson came down and showed John to the latrine. She was a kind old woman who owned the place. Though she wasn’t very strong, everyone respected her and listened to her. It was as if she held a shotgun, though John doubted she had ever held a weapon in her life. It helped that Sherlock went where ever John did. He followed him around like a puppy dog. It would have been unnerving if it weren’t for a few factors.

First, Sherlock meant protection. For some reason, everyone trusted his judgement enough to stay away from John. That or they feared him. Either way, when Sherlock was near, nobody approached John.

Second of all, he was company. John would have gone insane with just Greg in his head. Not that he didn’t like the man, he had grown quite fond of him, but that didn’t change the fact that he need actual social interaction.

And finally, Sherlock was just interesting. He managed to make John’s days seem exciting, though he rarely left his cell. He told John stories of the old days, when he would run around solving cases. And then when John told his own stories, his face was lit up like a child’s.

On the second day, he was telling a story about his favorite planet (besides earth), watching as Sherlock leaned in with his every word. “They were already a peaceful folk, kind in every nature. They called themselves Gallifreyans. They accepted all alien’s that ever stepped onto their doorstep and though they didn’t want us inhabiting every mind, they had plenty of volunteers who stepped forward. We followed their wishes and only took those who volunteered, but we learned so much from them.”

John paused to take a breath, but wasn’t allowed to continue. He heard footsteps getting close by. He watched as Sherlock scrambled out of his small room. “Get out of here, Anderson.” He heard the man growl.

“We’ve come to kill it. Step out of the way.” John heard the nasally voice of the annoying Anderson and pushed himself far back into the wall.

He could practically hear a snarl come from Sherlock’s throat. He honestly didn’t think the man cared that much for him, he had gotten excited when John talked about the death of his species, just as when he talked about the life. “If you want to kill him, you have to go through me.”

Anderson’s response sounded almost cocky, John could tell he was grinning when he spoke. “We’ve come to a vote, and I’m very well prepared to hurt you to get to it.” He said.

John didn’t want that. He didn’t want Sherlock getting hurt, especially not because of him. He heard a small scuffling and a groan and he was crawling out of the cave, quickly standing between Sherlock and Anderson, who seemed to be keeled over in pain. He didn’t get to see the shock on Sherlock’s face.

He did get to see the pure rage on Anderson’s face when he righted himself, and the glares on the others faces. There were two others. One was the caramel colored girl with poofy hair, the other had sandy brown hair, cut short. They were standing in defensive poses, in case they were needed.

He heard Sherlock move just the slightest behind him and he jolted when he felt a hand lightly touch his waist. Greg stirred from inside his head and if he weren’t concentrating so hard on that hand, he would have laughed at Greg’s reaction. The hand nudged him back towards his cell, the deep voice behind it warning him. “Get back in the room, John.” He said. John wasn’t sure if he was trying to keep him safe, or what, but he didn’t budge.

He wasn’t going to let Sherlock get hurt because of him.

When Anderson moved again, John blocked Sherlock out of the way. Of course, Sherlock tried to attack Anderson, but the other two were already on him, holding him back. Anderson’s fingers found his throat and he started to choke him.

John struggled. He almost got away for a second there; Greg’s body was very strong. But he was still weak from being stuck in the desert for so long and eventually when he started to lose the air in his lungs, he started to falter.

The pain on his throat, the loss of air, it was more than he could bare and his legs were starting to give way. “John!” He heard Sherlock shout his name, which he had told him the day before, and the edges of his eyes started to blur again.

From down the hallway, another voice rang out. This one was a woman, and she sounded angry. “What the hell is wrong with you!? We decide to let it live and you decide to just disobey orders? Did your mother drop you on a head when you were a kid?”

Anderson didn’t let go of John’s neck, but he did scoff and loosen the hold so John was able to get a breath. He would have recognized that voice from anywhere.

_**Harry.** _

John was surprised the woman was coming to his aide, though he could be sure it was for a different reason altogether. His suspicions were confirmed when she spoke again. “Obviously you were, if you attack one of your own. It doesn’t matter if it is here and alive right now. Until Sherlock gets his head out of his ass, we let it live. Capiche?”

Anderson grumbled under his breath, stepping away from John, who sagged to the floor. Harry sneered, stepping forward. She held a pistol in her hand. _“Capiche?”_

“Yes, fine. Alright.” Anderson muttered, turning away from John and walking back up the hall towards Harry, who looked pretty satisfied that she had gotten them to stop. Greg didn’t want to admit it, but his sister was pretty badass.

When the other two had released Sherlock, he grumbled something about how “Donovan” and “Dimmock” were idiots, before he held his hand out to John. John took it carefully and saw that, though the three had left, Harry was still here.

Before he could get in any trouble, he crawled back into his space.

He heard her from outside. “And as for you.” His ears perked up as Greg started paying more attention. “His life is on your hands. I don’t care if he’s in the body of my brother. I’m not going to have his life on my hands.” He heard her walk away, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Sherlock crawled back into the small cave, his eyes flickering down to the bruises already forming on John’s neck.

 

On the fifth day, John was taken to bathe. It wasn’t very special, nothing he would have taken account of, but when he got back, he had another special visitor.

By then, he had gotten used to the small touches that Sherlock applied on his waist or shoulder, thinking of it as nothing. It was kind and comforting, and he felt like it kept him from any harm. But when he saw Molly standing outside of his door, he was very conscious of the hand on his elbow.

Greg was more conscious of it, and he managed to make John jerk away from it. Sherlock didn’t say anything, nor did he move from where he stood. He just watched as Molly approached John, tentatively. “They didn’t tell me you were here.” She muttered, the pained expression making it very clear how much they avoided telling her.

John swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched Molly. He was aware of Greg, trying to take some kind of control. He just wanted to move that strand of her hair behind her ear. But he was afraid of her flinching away from him. His fingers twitched and he clenched his hand into a fist.

“I didn’t think it was true, when I heard the rumours, but I suppose they are...” She went on, looking at her feet before peeking up at John from the top of her eyes. The way her eyes widened when she did that sent a stab of nostalgia deep into John’s heart. Greg was on the verge of tears inside John’s mind.

He wanted to speak so badly, Greg wanted to speak so badly, but he was afraid of something bad coming out. He wanted to tell her that Greg was still here, that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t find it in him. Molly stepped forward and John felt strong hands on his shoulders. He didn’t realize how wobbly he was until he was being steadied.

Molly’s eyes saw the hands and she stopped in her tracks, frowning. She seemed to be struggling with her words. Her voice, which had started out strong, was now barely over a whisper, cracking halfway into her sentence. “Is he gone?”

John could feel his head spinning. Greg wanted to tell her so badly, but John was afraid of what would happen. Would she believe him? What would Sherlock think? Would it send the both of them to their death? Greg couldn’t care any longer. He tried to persuade John.

**Molly will believe you. If anyone will, it’s Molly.**

“Please, just tell me that. Is Greg gone?”

‘ _I can’t-_ ’

“I heard rumours that he could still be in there. That when you take over someone’s body, they’re still there.” John had parted his lips, Molly’s eager and pained filled eyes were getting to him. Even Sherlock’s hands lightly squeezing his shoulders egged him on. “That’s all I want to know, please just- _please._ ”

John couldn’t take it anymore. He nodded, watching as her eyes filled with hopes. He continued to nod as he searched for the right words. “He’s here. He’s still very much here.” He said, feeling as Sherlock’s hands left his shoulders and Molly quickly wrapped him into a hug.

He was surprised at the gentle contact, but not unhappy. He hugged her back. The feeling of both himself and Greg’s happiness seemed to make him forget everything else but Molly.

Not for long though, as John’s mind started to wander to the man who still stood close behind him. He wondered what was going through Sherlock’s mind, and started to pull away from Molly. She looked at him, and he gave her a rueful smile. “He says he loves you and that he misses you.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, stepping away from him. “I love you too, Greg.” She said, and John nodded again to let her know he had gotten the message.

John’s head swiveled back and up to see Sherlock, who was positively grinning. “I knew it.”

Instantly, John went on the defense. “You guys can’t tell anyone. They would think I was lying and would have my head.” He said, but the smile off of Sherlock’s face didn’t falter.

Sherlock had seemed to guess it ahead of time, and how that it was confirmed, he was ecstatic.

There was something about Sherlock’s smile that made John’s stomach do a flip.

Greg groaned in his head.

 

Sherlock was a very interesting man, which John found out during that week. After Molly came, he tried to turn the story away from himself. The look that Sherlock was giving him was making him nervous. He didn’t like being studied the way he was. So he ignored Sherlock’s deep questions and instead decided to ask him one.

“What happened to your parents?” He asked, blurting out the question before he could stop himself. Greg groaned. If he could have, he would have slapped his forehead.

Sherlock stared at him, his lips slowly falling into a frown. It seemed like it was going to be a touchy subject. John wished he had never asked. He actually started to take it back when Sherlock spoke. “My dad left when I was a kid. I don’t know if he survived the invasion or died before.” He said, his voice sounding much deeper than before.

His eyes, which normally stood their ground, were looking down at the small gap between their legs. The space was pretty small, they were sitting so closely, that they had to sit cross-legged, and their knees were touching. “My mother...” He trailed off, his lips curling up in distaste as the memory flashed through his mind. “My mother gave herself to the occupation willingly. She was dying to give herself away, once the drugs weren’t enough. And she tried to take us with her.”

John stared at Sherlock’s features with such sorrow that he wished he could reach out and comfort the man. This time, Greg stilled his motions. Sherlock’s eyes flitted up and reached John’s. He looked like a wounded puppy dog and Greg couldn’t stop John from resting his hand on the man’s leg, as some form of comfort. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.” He muttered, but Sherlock shook his head.

“It’s fine. I’ve been asking you about your entire life, it gives you a right to ask me questions.” He said. His smile, for once in his life, actually reached his eyes. It was breathtaking and John could feel his heart skip a beat.

**You are _not_ falling for him.** Greg complained, but John was hardly listening. He was getting himself lost in Sherlock’s eyes as he tried to search for another question. If he was allowed to ask any questions, he wanted it to be a good question, before Sherlock got bored. Because that man got bored quickly.

He moved the hand from Sherlock’s leg, back into his own lap. He didn’t want to ask him about his past, or his family. Family was clearly a bad topic and Sherlock had already told him many stories about his crime solving. Now, John just wanted to ask him a question that would make him proud, that would make that smile come back.

“What are you afraid of losing the most?” He finally asked, watching as Sherlock’s eyes shot open at the surprised deepness of the question, before they quickly furrowed. It didn’t seem like he was searching for an answer. It seemed like he was trying to figure out whether or not he should say it.

John tried to study his face the same way Sherlock did, but he didn’t find anything different. Nothing to give away the answer. Finally, Sherlock gave John a hidden smile. “Maybe you’ll figure that out someday.” He gave John a pointed look, before he crawled out of the cave, leaving John not only curious, but wanting.

John stayed where he was for a long time, if not to calm himself down, to keep Greg under waters. The last thing he wanted was Greg taking control and saying something stupid to Sherlock, like, ‘John fancies you.’ Or something of the sorts. Greg insisted he wouldn’t do that, but he was teasing altogether and John just couldn’t tell. He’d rather be safe than sorry.

Sherlock stayed outside. He didn’t move away from the room, nor did he enter again, until John spoke up. It seemed like he was playing a game, and he won it. “You’re infuriating sometimes, do you know that?” John said, poking his head out of the entrance to see Sherlock still smiling. Of course he knew that. He probably did it on purpose.

John rolled his eyes, good naturedly, and sat back down where he was.

Was it insane that this was probably the happiest he had ever been?

Every planet he had been on was amazing, different, and altogether pleasant. But none of them were nice enough for him to stay for more than one life. But there was something different about this planet. Or maybe, it wasn’t the planet at all. Maybe it was-

He didn’t dare let himself finish that train of thought. As far as he knew, he would be dead next week. If anything, he couldn’t stay in this body. Greg was important to his family and friends and John didn’t have the heart to keep him away from them. And it wouldn’t feel right taking someone else’s body. Not after all he had been through.

So he stopped that train of thought.

But he couldn’t stop being happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really starting to stray from the plot of the Host now, and will continue to do such. I want this to be my own story, not one morphed entirely by the book. However, some things that do happen in the book may happen in this fanfic. I'm not sure, but there are a few things I'm planning. Expect some cool stuff!
> 
> Also, I'd like to send out a special thanks to consultingdetectivesherlockh, my beautiful and lovely wife. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have even finished chapter 1, and now I'm about to go on writing a 3rd. Also, she's an amazing muse.


	3. Avoiding Reichenbach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts to warm up to everyone in the caves, but dangerous obstacles await around every corner.

The mountain was many things. It was dark, damp, and musty. It echoed in all the wrong places and it’s halls stretched far too long. It’s waters were both scalding hot and freezing cold, and if you stepped in the wrong one you would be sent tumbling down never to be found again.

But it was another thing, for John. Something he had never found, in all of his years, on any of the planets he lived on. It was home. And not just home, as in a place you live in for a long period of time. It was home, as in a place he’d want to stay forever.

He couldn’t deny his reason, as Greg loved to hold it in front of his face. The more he thought about the man with the tall cheekbones and the sharp blue eyes, the more he was sent spiraling into a void of his own emotions. Even Greg had to think of Molly to keep himself from drowning in John’s thoughts, as Sherlock was all he thought about.

Even when John finally started to help around, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock. And he was glad for it, because it helped him from being too scared, or anxious. And soon enough, most people had started to accept him. Not everybody, Anderson and the girl named Donovan avoided him like the plague, but Sherlock claimed they were idiots anyways.

John hadn’t got his answer yet, and he left it alone, but he certainly didn’t forget about it. For two nights in a row he tossed and turned, trying to think of what Sherlock’s answer would be. He tossed out any thoughts that related to himself. That was a false hope that had to be avoided if he wanted to stay sane. But he couldn’t think of anything. Sherlock was so hard to read. He was a closed door, and John had only gotten a peek into the window.

It was too much to believe when Sherlock woke him up in the middle of the night, a grin on his face. “C’mon, you don’t need to sleep in here anymore.” He said.

John sat up groggily, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Where can I sleep, then?” He asked, yawning.

Sherlock shrugged. “We don’t have any open rooms, so you’ll have to bunk with me. I don’t toss and turn all that much, but even if I did, I’d imagine being bumped by my bony limbs would be better than this rough floor.” He spoke like he always did, fast and almost monotone, but when he held out his hand, John had to take it.

Sherlock helped him up and they both let go. For reasons neither of them quite knew.

Sherlock, like always, continued to speak. He never knew when a silence was awkward, or should have been left alone, so he always filled it. “I don’t sleep all that much, so you may have the bed to yourself quite often, but I sometimes play my violin when I’m bored. It drives people nuts, so I figured you should know.”

John raised his eyebrows. “You have a violin? How’d you manage that?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Mycroft and myself traveled here with plenty of money. Luckily for us, Mrs. Hudson was our escort, or we would have gotten lost, but we were allowed many luxuries when we gave her most of our funds. I was luckily smart enough to grab my violin. My brother had less concerns. He grabbed a measly umbrella.” He scoffed, rolled his eyes, and stepped through the darkness with practiced ease.

John had to jog to catch up, before falling into a brisk step. “I didn’t know you could play the violin.” He said thoughtfully. If he could have seen in the dark, he would have seen Sherlock roll his eyes.

“Of course you didn’t know. I didn’t tell you.” Sherlock smirked when he heard the audible sigh from John, before continuing. “It helps me think. Great for the brainwork.”

“Mmm, I see.”

Then they were there, at Sherlock’s bedroom. It wasn’t too large, considering what the man was used to, but it was spacious in ways John hadn’t been accustomed too in a long time.

Sherlock had a twin bed, a bookshelf, and a small desk. That was it. But that was all he needed.

John eyed the bookshelf, which was stuffed full of books. He didn’t pay too close attention to the names on them, but he could see they ranged from adventure, to romance, to philosophy. Sherlock was like those books himself. Unexpected and unknown. On his desk, rest a violin case, which John assumed had the violin in it. It was black, hard to see, but very visible on the mahogany desk. On a small hook near the entrance, which John noticed had some sort of curtain as a door, was a long black coat and a navy blue scarf, hung neatly. Sherlock probably didn’t get much used for it down here.

His bed looked unslept in, but John was eager to change that. He was just so exhausted, if it had been his own bed he would have plopped down in it without even taking his shoes off. But he had manners. So he took his shoes off and placed them neatly by the door, before approaching the bed. When he laid down in it, he let out a groan. “This is amazing.” He muttered, rolling over so he was closer to the wall.

He had closed his eyes, ready to instantly fall asleep.

But he felt the bed sag under a new weight and his eyes opened.

He turned his head to see Sherlock climbing under the covers. He knew the man was going to sleep here, he just didn’t really process it until now. This was probably a terrible idea.

**This is definitely a terrible idea.**

John could feel his heart picking up it’s speed, when his shoulder brushed with Sherlock’s. They were too grown to be sharing a bed like this, someone was going to fall off.

John at least had the courtesy to turn onto his side so Sherlock could get more space. He was going to turn to face the wall, but he ended up facing Sherlock instead.

Sherlock turned as well and they were both facing each other.

John’s breathing slowed. He could feel Sherlock’s breath on his face and he didn’t know if he would be able to take it, sleeping next to him. Even in the darkness, Sherlock’s eyes were bright. Even then, they tried to study him

John closed his eyes to keep himself steady, stable.

Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep.

 

When John woke up, he didn’t realize where he was at first. He was laying on something cushioned, and a heavy weight was laying across his chest. Something soft tickled his nose.

He opened his eyes and only saw black, curly hair; it all came back to him quickly.

He was in Sherlock’s bed, with Sherlock, who was sleeping on his chest. He had an arm of his wrapped around Sherlock’s waist! He was-

He was still trying to process the information. Though Greg seemed to have already figured it out, John was panicking just a bit too much to fully understand. He was in bed. With Sherlock. Sherlock’s bed? Laying in bed with Sherlock? Sleeping with Sherlock?

Greg would have rolled his eyes if he could. He would have smacked some sense into John, told him to just tell the guy how he felt. But of course, Greg was also afraid of some emotion sharing happening, in his body. He didn’t want to kiss Sherlock, and it didn’t matter how much John did. He wasn’t going to allow it.

Judging by the shallow breathing, Sherlock was still asleep, which gave John plenty of time to calm down his heartbeat and relax. Ten minutes later, when Sherlock did stir, John was able to feign being asleep pretty decently.

Sherlock wasn’t stupid. But he didn’t say anything.

 

When John woke up for a second time that day, there was a buzz going around the place. Even Sherlock, who had only seemed interested in John, was excited. When John asked him what was going on, he replied with his face alight. “There’s a Seeker out there, looking for you. It had brought others, but even when they turned back, it stayed. It seems to want you pretty badly.” He said, and John jolted back.

Sherlock hadn’t realized he upset him, he was too excited about the Seeker, but knew fear when he saw it. The smile disappeared and he reached for John’s hand. John took it without a second thought, holding it for comfort. He couldn’t believe Moriarty was still after him.

Though he couldn’t be sure it was that soul, he was almost positive. No other soul would be that cruel, that dedicated.

Molly approached them and Greg forced John to take his hand away, which he did after sending a fleeting glance to Sherlock. Sherlock smiled knowingly, but there was something else in his eyes that rang out through all the rest. John didn’t know what to make of it, but his thoughts were trained on Sherlock, all the time.

Throughout the rest of that day, John kept hearing the same thing over and over again. It was all about the Seeker, hell bent on finding him. It raised suspicions again and people like Anderson started calling John out. Some people only seemed sympathetic.

John was glad when he got back to Sherlock’s room, to find the man tuning his violin. He smiled and sat down on the bed, watching him with fond eyes. Sherlock didn’t look up from his instrument, and though the plucking never stopped, there was a silence falling around them.

It was broken by footsteps walking down the hallway, and Sherlock never stopped playing with his violin, even when a small girl peaked her head into the room. “He’s gotten closer.” She said, her short hair falling into her face as she pulled back.

John had never seen her before, despite the fact that there were less than 40 humans in the colony. She wasn’t new, but maybe she just blended in the shadows. She had a heart-shaped face and wide interesting eyes that fit with her slender form. She looked to be in her teen years, maybe 16 or 17, but her eyes looked much wiser.

She smiled at John kindly before turning back to Sherlock. “He still hasn’t seemed to pinpoint our location, but he’s gotten close considering the range of the desert. My guess is he’ll loop around and continue searching until he finds something. I snuck out earlier and got a good look at him through my binoculars. He looks determined.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said, not necessarily cutting her short but stopping her from saying anything else. He didn’t want John to get upset and though it was obvious that he asked for the information, it was clear he didn’t want John to hear all of it.

The girl smiled and gave both John and Sherlock another smile, before ducking her head back and leaving the same way she came.

The silence was deafening as Sherlock had set his violin down long ago. John was looking at his hands. Though Sherlock was a man of many words, he seemed to have quite a bit of trouble forming a proper sentence. John hadn’t even noticed that he got up until the bed moved and he felt Sherlock’s cold hand touch his.

“John.” He started. John stared at their hands, fighting the urge to play with Sherlock’s fingers. He couldn’t look at the man just yet, he couldn’t show the fear that was hidden in his eyes. “You are-” He took a deep breath and Greg tried to send signals to John.

**He’s going to confess or something, isn’t he?**

‘ _No he isn’t. He doesn’t think about me like that._ ’

“I feel-”

**Shut up, he totally is. And when he does, you absolutely cannot kiss him.**

‘ _Or what_?’

**Or I’ll bite him, that’s what.**

Sherlock sighed and started to play with John’s fingers, testing the joints and playing with the soft part of his palm. When John peeked up at him, he found the man wasn’t making eye contact now. “The answer to your question should be obvious.” He muttered, and John’s brain was spinning already. He wanted to know what was coming up next, but he was afraid of being wrong.

“No matter what this comes to, I’ll protect you. Like when those idiots came to try and kill you. Because...” He trailed off, his fingers grazing the underside of John’s wrist. John’s heart spiked and that gave him the confidence to continue. “Because there’s only one thing I couldn’t live without, and that’s you.”

John’s heart was hammering and he was afraid that Sherlock could hear every thud. Though he knew it wasn’t plausible for most to hear a heartbeat, without at least placing their ear next to it, he didn’t doubt that Sherlock was that great. If anyone could have done it, it would have been Sherlock.

Greg was protesting in his mind, shaking his head every which way, and John thought he might lose control of his body if it continued.

Sherlock’s nails slowly slide their way up John’s arms, sending a line of tingles up it.

John was paralyzed to the spot.

Sherlock leaned in when his hand found a comfortable spot behind John’s neck. His breath was fruity, warm, and inviting. John craved it. He leaned in unconsciously. Despite how much he wanted to respect Greg, he couldn’t stop. Sherlock made him feel drunk, without control.

That was before their lips touched.

After, it was much worse.

John felt all of his defenses caving. He was completely at the will of Sherlock. He felt like he was coming undone. Their lips moved against each other gracelessly, passionately. Sherlock had his arms propping John up, while John just tried to cling to him desperately.

His body didn’t want it, Greg didn’t want it, but John wanted it so badly and his brainwaves were sending so many mixed signals to him that he didn’t allow himself to think. He left that to Greg, who was using all of his will to push Sherlock away.

Finally, he won over. His arms shoved into Sherlock’s chest and pushed him away forcefully.

**God damnit John! This is still my body!**

_Sorry I- Sorry._

**It’s fine. Just don’t do it in my body. Christ, what would Molly think if she saw that?**

John’s heart did a small flip at the name and he cringed. Greg was right. What would she think? She still sees Greg in this body. If she were to see John kissing Sherlock she would be devastated.

Sherlock found the whole ordeal amusing. His smirk was as wide as ever, his curls even more unruly than usual. John didn’t remember running his fingers through his hair but it must have happened. “Greg is protesting, I assume?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You would assume correctly.” John replied, after having finally caught his breath. He noticed that Sherlock was following his every move and he suddenly felt self conscious.

It didn’t help when Sherlock opened his lips, ever intention of taunting John or Greg in his tone. “Then you better make yourself a bit more presentable. I still have half a mind of jumping you.”

Greg growled but John let out a flustered laugh, reaching up to fix his hair and adjust the clothes he was wearing. A sudden thought sunk into his idea and his heart panged. “Sherlock, you don’t- You like this body, not me.”

“Don’t be stupid John. I like you for your mind, not for your looks.” Sherlock retorted, to which John shook his head hastily. He sighed and tried to continue without John interrupting him. “I like you because of how you act, how you speak, how you control your body. If you were in any other body, I would like you just as much.”

John felt his spirit’s soar before they sunk once again into the pit of his stomach. “But that’s still not me. If you could touch _me_. Hold me in your hands. You’d be disgusted.”

But Sherlock shook his curls and reached for John’s hand. “I’d be in awe, I’d be amazed. But I wouldn’t be disgusted.”

John’s heart skipped a beat and Sherlock knew he was in love.

 

Not everything in the caves were perfect. Outside of Sherlock’s bedroom, John was still hated. They didn’t trust him. And Moriarty was still out looking for him. John was afraid that he stop at no cost. That he would find them and hurt everyone he cared for.

Molly followed him around like a puppy dog now and Greg was conflicted. He was happy she believe that he was alive, overjoyed even, but he couldn’t touch her himself. He couldn’t be with her. That was much worse than her not believing.

Harriet had come around, which was extremely helpful. No one crossed her path, and though she didn’t know that her brother was still alive in there, she did know that John wasn’t going to hurt anyone. He was a Soul, a parasite, but he seemed to have taken a turn for the better.

She almost encouraged his relationship with Sherlock. One day she pulled him aside and told him how different Sherlock was, compared to just a few months ago. He had been unbearable. They were close to strangling him before John came. And now he was tame,   human even. John brought that out in him.

“You remind me of my brother.” She said to him, when they were working together in the kitchen. “Not Greg, the other one. He was-” She paused, a small smile forming on her lips. “He was very gentle, kind. But he wasn’t afraid to speak up.”

That pleased John. He was glad he was still seen as a peacekeeper.

Thanks to Harry and Sherlock, John was allowed an almost normal existence in the tunnels. Until someone decided to take matters into their own hands.

 

John was alone. He didn’t expect anyone to hurt him with Harry on his side now, he thought he was free from any harm. He had went to the bath, which was a shallow cove with warm water (thanks to the stable yet active volcano that they lived in). He was cleaning himself up, trying to keep himself presentable. He kind of hoped that if he at least looked nice, people would think he was.

The soap burned, though that was to be expected of something that was made in a closed off area with little resources. Still, it was unpleasant to the skin and John always felt raw after he took a bath. That was why he stayed a little bit longer, to let the water relax him and help him feel normal again.

As he was relaxing, he heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. They were brisk, short. It sounded a bit like when Sherlock was walking, but much more organized. John got out of the bath, quickly dressing. It was always easier to leave when someone else came, to avoid confrontation.

When he left, and rounded the corner, no one was in sight. He stood in the narrow hallway for a minute, taking in his surroundings. The hallway was narrow, slim enough to fit maybe three grown men standing sideways. To the left, the cave wall jutted out in places. To the right, a fast going river tumbled past and downward. Sherlock had told John that he once dropped a rock down there. Whoever went down there would never come back.

But it seemed to just be John in this hallway, which was curious. He could have sworn he heard someone.

He took one more step before he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder and he was flailing back, trying not to fall into the river that was now behind him. He grabbed onto something that he recognized to be a tie, before his eyes met the cold, glaring eyes of Sherlock’s older brother.

Mycroft was clearly angry, only keeping John from falling because he would have fallen himself. “You don’t deserve to be breathing, let alone here.” He growled, his normally neat hair was practically flying everywhere. John pulled himself up into a comfortable standing position, trying to get to the wall.

Mycroft grabbed him from the neck, tossing him to the ground in an attempt to throw him down into the river. John was stronger, but Mycroft had the element of surprise. John was on the floor, his head hanging over the ledge. He was dazed.

Mycroft placed his hands firmly around his neck, pushing his head towards the rushing water. His eyes were accusing. As if it were John’s fault his entire life was a disaster or something.

John choked back his air, flipping Mycroft around. He just wanted to get away. He didn’t expect to hear a cry of help, a splash of boiling water. He had accidentally flipped Mycroft straight into the current.

With fast, strong arms, he reached out and grabbed Mycroft. His hand wrapped around the man’s wrist and he heard a crack as the man was jolted to a stop. He was hanging precariously off of the edge with only John keeping him up, his eyes no longer formed into a glare. It was just panic now.

But John wasn’t strong enough. Greg had never been one to work out and John was a bit malnourished. He could already feel his arm straining. Quickly, he let out a strangled cry. “Help!” He cried out, his voice hoarse. “Help, please! _Help_!”

He could only hear the rush of the water over his ears as Mycroft started to slowly slip from his hands. He tried one more time, shouting as loud as he could. “ _ **Help**_!”

Then he heard the footsteps pounding down the tunnel, the worried voice of Sherlock ringing down. “John, are you alright?!” He stopped when he saw the predicament he was in and crossed his arms. “What did he do to you?”

John looked up with wide eyes. “Help me out, Sherlock. He’s going to fall.”

“What did he do to you?” Sherlock asked again, stepping closer.

John was practically pleading now. “Sherlock, he didn’t do anything. Help me out.” For a second, Sherlock just stared at him before he grumbled and reached for Mycroft’s arm, too. John didn’t let go, even when Sherlock hoisted Mycroft up. He only let go once Mycroft was in the clear and his arm was hurting too much to be healthy.

Another set of footsteps came down the hall and Harry surveyed the scene before scoffing. “Why didn’t you just let him fall?” She asked, looking at Sherlock. Sherlock inclined his head towards John.

“He insisted.” He growled. He didn’t look too pleased with his brother.

“He tripped.” John butt in, trying to defend Mycroft. He didn’t want him to get into too much trouble, despite the fact that he tried to kill him. Greg wished he had let the man fall, but John really didn’t want him to get hurt.

“Yeah, sure.” Sherlock said, his lips curled into a sneer as he leaned down to help John up. His face loosened and he sighed, examining his face. “You alright?”

John nodded, but he wasn’t really alright. After all, Mycroft had just tried to kill him. He wished he hadn’t left his room.


End file.
